Some Assistance Required
by danang1970
Summary: Murdock was injured. But Murdock was also hungry.


The plane's landing had been ugly. So had the look on BA's face when the sedatives had worn off and they'd told him how he'd acquired that bruise on his forehead. Murdock had managed to control the crash as much as possible but the cockpit had still taken a nasty impact. It could have been much worse; only three of Murdock's ribs were cracked (two were just bruised) and his ankle wasn't fractured when it was pinned by the plane's crumpled nose. Still, their scammed plane was clearly a write-off and their pilot was under strict instructions to REST and RECOVER and stop HOBBLING AROUND on his ridiculously swollen foot.

Murdock seemed to be interpreting these instructions in his own typically-unique fashion, in that he chose to classify them as "optional" and ignored them completely.

BA, therefore, was exasperated but not surprised to enter the kitchen and find the ex-Captain standing on the countertop – and because he knew that the fool's stupidity never had just one layer, he looked down and yep, there it was, Crazy was wearing socks and balancing one-legged.

The question, "What are you doing?" would only receive an answer that would make it that much harder for BA to resist the temptation to push Murdock headfirst onto the tiled floor. BA knew that much from experience.

"Why?" would prompt a similarly infuriating response and BA knew that he shouldn't play with fire in a room with so many knives. He was much more tolerant of Murdock's craziness than he had been when they first met, but he wasn't a damn saint.

BA considered backing out of the room and pretending he hadn't seen anything.

Too late. Murdock pivoted as awkwardly as you'd imagine someone could pivot while being barely able to move their torso and standing on one leg, head ducked to avoid hitting the ceiling. He nearly slipped but grabbed hold of the open cupboard door just in time.

"Hey Bosco!" he chirped, swinging slightly with the door and causing it to creak alarmingly. "Want some cereal?" He waggled a box of something far too sugary for a grown man to eat, as evidenced by the colourful cartoon mascot on the front, in his free hand.

Without bothering to reply, BA stepped forward and yanked on the back of Murdock's t-shirt. Hard.

With a yelp that sounded more delighted than frightened, Murdock fell backwards into BA's arms. Fluorescent-coloured cereal bits went everywhere. Of course they did.

Murdock beamed as BA set him on his feet (well, foot) on the FLOOR this time like a NORMAL person.

"Hi!" The pilot was not dissuaded by his unexpected trip off the bench in the least. "Cereal?" he offered again.

BA knew it was stupid, but he had to do it. "Why were you up there, fool?"

The cardboard box rattled as Murdock shook it. "Cereal."

BA crossed his arms.

"I couldn't reach." Murdock held his arms up to demonstrate their limited mobility, courtesy of his bound ribs. He looked like a t-rex in a hostage situation.

BA's eyebrows lowered in a glower.

"I was hungry!" The box rattled again.

BA's mammoth arm came up, muscles tensed. Murdock blinked at him expectantly. The huge fist extended a single finger, pointing sternly at their kitchen table. "Sit."

Murdock made a little hopping motion in the direction of the cupboard, then winced. "Bowl," he explained.

The finger didn't waver. "Sit."

With a ridiculously over-extended bottom lip – BA half expected the other man to call him a "meanie" – Murdock hobble-stomped to the table and lowered himself into the chair huffily. He thrust a hand into the cereal box and ate a fistful of dry sugar cardboard as loudly and sullenly as possible.

There was a sigh and the sound of banging drawers behind him, but Murdock stubbornly kept his gaze fixed on the tabletop, chewing obnoxiously with his mouth open because he knew BA hated that.

A large bowl, spoon and gallon of milk appeared in front of him with a slam. In spite of himself, Murdock looked up.

BA's glare hadn't lessened, but it was fixed somewhere over Murdock's right shoulder. "Eat your stupid cereal," he muttered sternly. "Don't stand on benches."

Murdock nodded. He swallowed a too-dry mouthful and started hacking, eyes watering as he curled over as much as possible without putting pressure on his ribs.

BA watched the display for a few seconds before turning away with a shake of his head. "I can only do what I do," he would have been heard telling himself as he left the room, had Murdock's retching not been so dramatically loud. "Can't fix everything. Fool's standing on benches, choking himself, that's natural selection, that ain't nothing to do with me…"


End file.
